


sing a little louder, laugh a little softer

by citrina



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: ATLA Secret Santa 2020, Canon Compliant, Culture, Gen, Music, Post-War, Zuko plays Tsungi Horn ok, basically just a lotta musical culture thrown into one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrina/pseuds/citrina
Summary: In which Aang unites the Four Nations with the power of friendship and music.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crime_lord_amidala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crime_lord_amidala/gifts).



> For Lillith (@ahs0ka-tano on tumblr). Happy ATLA Secret Santa!

It’s been three hours and there’s a song stuck in Aang’s head. He can’t remember any of how it goes except for one phrase -- _bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-ba-da-ba-da_ \-- and it keeps repeating, over and over. He doesn’t even realize he’s humming it until Sokka tells him to quit it.

“Sorry, Sokka,” Aang shrugs. “I can’t remember what this tune is from. It’s driving me crazy as a hog-monkey.”

“Well, it’s driving _me_ crazy as a hog-monkey too, with all your singing,” Sokka grumbles, tossing his sleeping bag onto Appa’s back. “Just sing it inside your head, instead of outside. We’ve gotta keep moving if we want to get to the North Pole anytime soon.” 

“Oh, leave him alone, Sokka,” Katara calls from her perch on Appa’s head, where she’s tying the reins. “It’s kind of a pretty tune. I’ve never heard it before.” 

Aang thinks over the song again while he packs up the rest of the supplies. It’s getting cold out, and it reminds him of how the monks used to pull out the thick blankets around this time of year. 

“Oh! That’s it!” Aang recalls, suddenly, where the ditty is from. “It’s an old airbender song. Monk Gyatso used to sing it while he knitted blankets out of the bison fur yarn.”

“That’s lovely, Aang,” Katara says. “How does the rest of it go?”

“I can’t remember,” Aang sighs. “But the words have something to do with the steps to knitting.”

“Maybe if you sing the words it’ll come to you,” Katara encourages.

“Maybe… _cast on, pull through, and under the gate_...” Aang sings, before shaking his head. “No, that’s not it.” He never was patient enough for knitting.

“You’ll get it,” Katara says confidently. “Y’know, Sokka, it’s been a while since we sang any Water Tribe songs. I kind of miss them.”

“What’s Water Tribe music like?” Aang asks. He knows, vaguely, that there are a lot of drums and dancing.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Katara says, at the same time that Sokka replies, “It’s not that great.”

“Well, which one is it?” Aang asks.

Sokka shrugs. “It’s girl stuff, mostly. All the women play this game where they make a bunch of sounds at each other.”

“It’s called throat-singing,” Katara says with an eye roll at her brother. “And it’s part of our cultural heritage, Sokka. Don’t be disrespectful.”

“You can throat sing? Cool!” Aang’s never heard throat-singing in real life before, but he knows some of the monks at the Northern Air Temple specialized in it. Apparently, they were some of the best in the world.

“I can’t,” Katara sighs. “My mother could, but she never got the chance to teach me, and Gran-Gran never taught me. Also, there aren’t really other girls my age to practice with back in the village.”

“Maybe they can teach you in the North Pole,” Aang says. “I bet if they have waterbenders, they have great singers too!”

Katara perks up. “That would be nice. I wonder if it’s any different from the way we do it in the South Pole. It would be kind of cool to learn different styles.”

As they fly off on Appa’s back, Monk Gyatso’s knitting tune spins in Aang’s head, the same few notes tossing themselves lonely in the back of his mind.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Aang doesn’t think much at all about music for a while. It isn’t until they’re in the Fire Nation, and he’s Kuzon, that he remembers. The real Kuzon, the one who’s probably dead or declared a traitor (Aang _refuses_ to believe his old friend would fall for the Fire Nation military propaganda), was a talented pipa player. They used to joke that he was “piping-hot” on pipa.

“What instrument are you picking, Kuzon?” On Ji asks, grabbing an erhu for herself. Aang glances around at the racks of school instruments on the wall. There are a few flutes, a few drums, and… there. A Tsungi horn.

“Oh, nice choice! I hear that everyone in the royal family can play Tsungi horn,” On Ji says as Aang unhooks the horn from the wall. Aang stifles a laugh at the mental image of Zuko and Azula playing a Tsungi horn duet together.

“That’s cool. I’m not very good at it, but it’s pretty fun,” Aang says. He’s better at flute, but he doesn’t know the Fire Nation style, and he doesn’t want to out himself any further than he already has. 

“Fun? I don’t know what your music lessons in the colonies were like, but music classes here aren’t very fun,” On Ji whispers. “See the teacher over there, the one whose head is shaped like an overgrown melon? That’s Mister Chung, the music director.”

“He doesn’t look so bad,” Aang shrugs. The man in question does have an unfortunately melon-shaped head, but if he’s a music teacher, he must be alright. All the monks who taught flute back at the air temples were the friendliest and most easygoing of educators.

“He’s really boring,” On Ji says. “Also, we’ve been playing the same two songs for the past six months. I could play the Fire Nation anthem deaf and blind at this point.”

“I’ve never heard that before,” Aang says. “Could you teach me how it goes?”

On Ji stares at Aang as if he’s grown a third arm. “How have you never heard the anthem before? What did you play back in the colonies?”

“Oh, you know…” Aang searches his mind frantically for any tunes he can recall from the Earth Kingdom. For some reason, the only one he can think of is the Secret Tunnel song, which isn’t exactly recognizable in the Fire Nation.

“I can’t remember the name of the song right now,” Aang says hastily. On Ji takes her seat on the risers and Aang follows her. It’s strange sitting like this. The air temple musicians always stood or sat in a big circle when they practiced, so that they could all see each other. The melon-headed teacher, Mister Chung, stands with a baton in front of all of them, his nose pointed into the air.

“And a one-two, one-two-three-four!” Mister Chung counts off, and all the students start playing an upbeat tune that Aang vaguely recognizes. He takes a deep breath, and plays his first few notes on Tsungi horn. His technique is probably terrible, but the music is lively, and he feels his toes tapping to the beat.

Suddenly, the sound around him stops. Everyone’s staring at him. 

“I know, I’m a terrible Tsungi hornist,” Aang says. 

“No, child. That hullabaloo going on with your feet,” Mister Chung sniffs, waving his baton around. “Is that a nervous disorder?”

Aang almost laughs. “I was just dancing,” he replies. The confused gazes that surround him don’t stop. “You do dances here in the homeland, right?”

“Not really, no,” says Shoji next to him, looking small and nervous. 

“Dancing is not conducive to a proper learning environment,” Mister Chung says. “Young people must have rigid discipline and order.”

Rigid discipline? Order? Aang recalls the wild Fire Nation dance halls from a hundred years ago. Those were anything but disciplined and orderly. Kuzon had always loved going to watch the musicians playing there, with their improvised beats and emotional performances. Where had that music gone?

“But what about expressing yourself?” Aang asks. The Fire Nation had been famous for its passionate music! No wonder these kids looked so miserable coming into this class.

“I know sometimes we’re so _moved_ by our love for our nation that we can’t control our own bodies,” Mister Chung replies. “If you must, you may march in place quietly next time the urge hits you.”

Aang opens his mouth to protest, but Shoji gives him a wide-eyed look over his drum. So Aang sighs and joins the rest of the class, playing his Tsungi horn at the right time and marching his feet in place with the rigid rhythm.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“You know that beat the Sun Warriors were playing, when we were standing at the top of the mountain?” Zuko asks, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

“Oh, that one’s fun,” Aang agrees. “How does it go again? _Chak-a-la chak-a-la chak-a, chak-a-la--”_

“Okay, I don’t need you to sing it out loud, too,” Zuko grumbles. They’re standing in the courtyard on Ember Island, taking a break from firebending lessons. Zuko’s gotten out his swords and has started on some practice katas, even though they’ve been hard at work all day. Something about him seems calmer than usual as he swings the blades in a graceful arc.

“You know, we were in the Fire Nation for a little while, before the invasion,” Aang starts conversationally. Zuko grunts.

“Is this the story of how you decided to play schoolboy for a week? Sokka told me.”

“Well, yeah, actually,” Aang says. “When I went to school, we had music lessons, and I picked the Tsungi horn.”

Zuko pauses mid-swing. “Don’t tell me.”

“And I heard something pretty interesting,” Aang says, trying to keep the mirth out of his voice. He fails. “One of my friends there told me that everyone in the royal family can play Tsungi horn.”

“That’s a myth,” Zuko grumbles. “Azula plays guzheng.” But his omission speaks volumes. Aang claps and laughs out loud.

“No way! I can’t believe it’s true. That’s so great that you know Tsungi horn!”

“I was never very good at it,” Zuko admits, apparently giving up on his sword practice to come walk over to where Aang is sitting. “Uncle plays well, though. He always had music nights on the ship.”

“And, well…” Aang remembers how the rest of the Fire Nation music lesson had gone. His grin fades. 

“What?” Zuko sheaths his swords with a fluid pass over his head. Aang remembers the way Zuko had moved as the Blue Spirit, elegant and silent. It seems very different from the hot-headed, awkward Zuko he knows now. But Zuko’s perpetual restlessness seems soothed for now, at least, since he’s done his sword practice.

“Nothing. The teacher was just kind of stuffy. He was all ‘You must only play the Fire Nation anthem’ and ‘dancing is forbidden because I’m so mean!’” Aang mocks with a dramatic pout and invisible baton.

“What do you mean, dancing? You were dancing?” Zuko asks, voice incredulous.

“Well, not really,” Aang explains. “I was kind of moving around my feet, a tiny bit, and the teacher told me to stop because I needed ‘order’ and ‘discipline.’ As if Fire Nation music is supposed to be _orderly._ ” He thinks back to the dance party he’d held. The kids there seemed like they’d never let loose once in their lives before.

“Of course music is supposed to be orderly,” Zuko says, seemingly baffled. “How else would you play it?”

“With instinct? Emotion? I don’t know,” Aang shrugs. “Didn’t you learn any old Fire Nation tunes as a kid?”

“Not really. I just played lots of scales and exercises,” Zuko says. “I didn’t care much for music lessons. But I never heard any old Fire Nation music growing up. Everything was composed after Sozin’s Comet.” He sounds surprised, like he’s never even realized it until now.

“Well, back when I visited my friends in the Fire Nation a hundred years ago, your music was full of energy and life!” Aang recalls the Sun Warriors’ pounding drum beat, the way the ritual had felt both ancient and viscerally present. “It was a lot like the Sun Warrior music, actually.”

“Really?” Zuko wrinkles his nose. “That’s nothing like what the court musicians would play.”

“I guess stuff changes a lot in one hundred years,” Aang says. “But I really liked music from the Fire Nation back then. The dance halls were always great!”

“Dance halls? I don’t think we have those anymore,” Zuko says. “Maybe music has changed a lot. Uncle really likes Earth Kingdom songs.”

“That stuff is great. The monks used to always sing to teach us new airbending forms. That way, we could practice the forms and the words and rhythm would match. Kind of like a dance,” Aang recalls. In his mind, he can picture how Monk Yonten would teach them all their bending forms, singing along to the movements.

“So you would learn airbending with songs? Firebending comes from the breath.” Zuko takes a deep breath to demonstrate, and exhales a little puff of orange flame. “I guess the same goes for airbending.” He sounds thoughtful.

“Yeah, part of the songs was about regulating your breathing,” Aang nods. “If you were singing at the right time and tempo, you wouldn’t be out of breath by the end of the song. But if you weren’t in balance with the movements, then it would take more energy than necessary.”

“Do you have a favorite song?” Zuko asks suddenly. “A training song that you really liked?”

“Well…” Aang thinks for a moment. “I do like this one song. It went… uh…” Aang bites his lip, grasping for a melody in his mind. But it’s just out of reach. It seems like so long ago that Monk Yonten taught the forms and the songs. 

From behind the house, there’s a crash and a shout. “Aang!” Suki’s voice calls. “Toph earthbent Sokka into a hole again!”

“I’d better go rescue Sokka,” Aang says to Zuko, standing up. As he walks behind the house to free Sokka from his earthy prison, it’s all too easy to think about the fact that he’s the only one in the world who can remember these songs, and that he can’t even do it.


	2. Chapter Two

“There’s someone here to see you, Aang,” Katara’s voice calls from downstairs. “I think he said he’s a professor or something?”

“Okay!” Aang calls back, grabbing his staff and sliding down the staircase railing. At the base of the stairs is a tall, thin man in blue robes and a severe topknot. The man looks truly out-of-place in the Earth Kingdom hotel room that Katara and Aang are renting. Next to him, Katara is juggling what seems to be multiple large bags of mysterious bulky shapes.

“Hi, I’m Aang,” Aang says to the stranger.

“Hello, Avatar,” the professor says. “I am Ranuk, a musicology professor at Agna Qel’a University in the Northern Water Tribe.”

“Cool! What brings you here?” Aang asks. “Y’know, we once met a professor from Ba Sing Se University. Do you know him? He measured my head. What a guy.” He elects not to mention how Professor Zei’s body is probably still rotting away in the underground spirit library.

“No.” Ranuk looks very bored.    
  


“Aang,” Katara interrupts, once she’s put the bags down. “Ranuk said he’s studying Air Nomad music. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“That  _ is _ cool,” Aang says. “Did you want to talk to me about that stuff?”

“I wanted to show you these,” Ranuk says, pointing at the bags. “They are artifacts I wish to identify, and a primary source such as yourself is an ideal for study.”

“What’s in the bags?” Aang asks. He opens one of the strangely-shaped black sacks. Inside, there’s a long horn instrument with a fluted bell.

“Hey, it’s a tungchen!” Aang exclaims. “Man, I haven’t seen one of these in forever.”

“Can you play it?” Ranuk asks, suddenly very lively. He looks almost hungry for Aang’s answer.

“No,” Aang admits. “The ones we had back at the temple were huge, though. Way bigger than this one.” He remembers how the elders would line up in pairs to play the giant horns off the mountainside. The sound always rumbled and shook the earth and sky, mimicking the growl of flying bison.

“Look at all these instruments,” Katara marvels, digging through the other bags. There’s a set of brass bells with mallets, a wooden flute, a few singing bowls, and a funny-looking stringed instrument that even Aang’s never seen before. Katara picks up a bell and flips it over.

“Be careful! These should not be handled,” Ranuk protests, hurrying over to grab the bell from Katara.

“They’re fine,” Aang shrugs, picking up a smaller bell to inspect for himself. “These are wind bells. We would airbend into them and then hit them with mallets to get certain notes. They can withstand all kinds of pressure.”

“Ah-- well, in that case,” Ranuk stumbles over his words, looking slightly sheepish. “But they are artifacts! From the Grand Palace Museum in Agna Qel’a. You must treat them with the utmost care. They are some of the few Air Nomad instruments left.”

“What do you mean? There has to be more than this,” Aang says, gesturing at the pile. “Each Air Temple had more than fifty bells! There’s only, like, six here.” 

“The Fire Nation melted down nearly all the metal instruments from the Air Temples to reuse,” Ranuk responds. “And they burned almost all the wooden ones to a crisp. Nearly everything is gone.”

“That’s awful,” Katara says sympathetically.

Aang can hardly hear Ranuk’s response over his own swirling thoughts. Melted down? Burned? The air temples must have had hundreds of instruments each. How could they all be gone?

But Aang remembers the Northern Air Temple, how the Mechanist said it had been empty when they arrived. No instruments. Aang can’t believe he never even stopped in the music rooms when he returned to the Southern and Western temples all those months ago. And his visit to the Eastern temple had been too short for exploring. He can’t believe he never realized it before. He’d always assumed, somehow, that even though his people were gone, they’d left something behind. 

Music is just another thing lost in a war.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The Fire Nation is boiling hot this time of year. Humidity turns the air thick and pink-orange. Even though he can regulate his body temperature, and can airbend wind to cool himself off, Aang is sweating as he climbs the steps to the Caldera City palace. Guards line the walkway, looking rather lackluster in their heavy black uniforms.

“Aang!” Zuko’s voice floats above the tired guards. The Fire Lord emerges from the doors, dressed casually in light summer robes. Aang airbends himself up the rest of the way. 

“Hiya, Sifu Hotman,” he says. Zuko scowls, rather predictably. 

“Come inside, it’s boiling out here. What did you need to talk to me about in such a rush?”

Aang scoots around a large guard in armor and ducks inside. “I thought I’d, y’know, touch up on my Fire Nation news. Being the Avatar and all. I should be updated on what’s happening.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “I send you letters every week. If there was anything pertinent, I’d tell you. Things are just as my letter from last week said.”

“Well, yeah, okay, but--” Aang shrugs, airbending himself forward and landing in front of Zuko, who stops walking. “What about the education system? Remember I told you about it? It’s terrible. Definitely something we should talk about like, right now.”

“Aang, I already revised the education system months ago. I got new ministers for it and everything.” Zuko crosses his arms. “What is this really about?”

Aang sighs. “I dunno. I was just thinking about what they were teaching. When I went to that school. It was wrong, Zuko!”

“I  _ know  _ it was wrong,” Zuko says, annoyance bleeding into his voice. “That’s why we changed it.”

“Not just about  _ what _ they were teaching,” Aang elaborates. “ _ How _ they were teaching, too. I told you about that music class I took, right?”

“Yes,” Zuko says, looking a little mystified. 

“They were teaching kids how to play music the wrong way! It was so  _ not  _ fun! And not how music is supposed to be.” 

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. Music is supposed to be orderly and clear. That’s how it’s written, and that’s how it’s meant to be played.” Zuko recites it stiffly, like he’s quoting some music teacher he had as a kid.

“That’s how it’s been written and played  _ since _ the start of the war,” Aang points out. “Fire Nation music used to be lively and full of energy!” He remembers his visits to Kuzon, how wild and bright the dance halls had been. 

And he remembers how Ranuk had treated the Air Nomad instruments. Like relics of a lost age. But Aang himself is proof that his traditions can’t die like his people did. They  _ need _ to be remembered, and preserved.

“And… Katara and I met a researcher,” Aang admits. “He studied Air Nomad history.”

“That’s nice,” Zuko says, baffled by the subject change.

“He studied Air Nomad music,” Aang clarifies. “It got me thinking. He called me a  _ primary source _ , Zuko. He sees my people as a forgotten era. We’re just history to him.” He resists kicking the floor.

“Aang, I don’t think I’m the best person to talk to about this,” Zuko says, backing up. “I’m the leader of the Fire Nation. You know-- the people who kind of caused that?” 

“You’re the  _ only _ one who can help me,” Aang insists. “We’re gonna bring back Air Nomad music  _ and _ Fire Nation music together. I know we can do it.”

“Aang,” Zuko says suddenly. “I think I should show you something.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“What  _ is  _ all this?”

“It’s the royal treasury, technically,” Zuko says, closing the door behind him. “But really, it’s where my father and his predecessors kept their stolen treasures.”

They’re surrounded on all sides by precious things. Aang doesn’t know where to look. On his right, there are Water Tribe furs, hanging like prizes along the wall. On his left, Earth Kingdom jewelry glints green and gold in the torchlight. And in the corner, where Zuko leads him, is a stack of instruments. 

There’s a set of singing bowls, rusted with age, their edging of prayers and songs standing out in the dark; a dramyin, decorated with wood carvings of flowers and flying lemurs; more wind bells; a collection of flutes in various sizes; piles and piles of instruments, too many to count. There are piles of vocal manuscripts, their edges curled and blackened, with the wavy lines of harmonies painted in soft brown ink. Aang drops to his knees. 

“I’m sorry there’s not more,” Zuko mutters, eyes cast down. 

“They’re  _ here _ ,” Aang breathes. “Ranuk said they were all destroyed.”

“Well— most of them were.” Zuko says. “These were the ones they considered to be the most valuable. But they haven’t exactly been taken care of.” He points at one hand drum which has been ripped straight down the middle.

Aang picks up one of the flutes. It’s just like he remembers, the classes in the sunny grounds of the Air Temple, sitting cross-legged, his hands wrapped around the smooth wooden neck. Belatedly, he feels a tear running down his cheek. 

“Aang? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Zuko grabs him by the shoulder, shaking him rather aggressively. 

Aang laughs. “I’m fine. It’s okay.” A melody ghosts through the back of his mind. But it’s only there for a second. He stands up. 

“Come on, Zuko. We have a lot of work to do.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Sokka raises his hand. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the original idea? Because that’s where you lost me.”

“Yeah,” Toph agrees, kicking her bare feet up onto the table. “And I dunno why you’re asking  _ us,  _ Twinkletoes. I can’t sing to save my life.”

“I don’t know, Aang,” Suki shrugs. “I’m not exactly a musician either.”

“Guys, this isn’t just about the music,” Aang protests. “It’s about the revitalization of culture! It’s about uniting the four nations through art!”

“Well, I for one think it sounds absolutely wonderful,” says Katara, standing up and kissing Aang on the cheek. “I’m in for sure.”

“And the Fire Nation will be participating too,” Zuko affirms with a nod. “And don’t worry, we won’t all be the ones performing. All you guys have to do is find the best musicians from your nations and get them to perform at the festival. You’re all pretty famous, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“So are you guys in?” Aang’s heart is fluttering fast, nervous at Sokka’s frown and Toph’s scrunched nose. 

“Sure, I’m in,” Toph shrugs. “But only if I can have those nomad dudes who brought you to Omashu.”

Sokka groans. “Ugh, those guys? I never should have told you that story. You sang that Secret Tunnel song for months afterwards.”

“And I’ll do it again unless you agree to go to the North Pole to find musicians,” says Toph with a smirk. “Two lovers, forbidden from one another—”

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” Sokka yelps. “Stop singing!”

“Me too,” Suki says from his side. “I think a music festival sounds fun!”

“Thanks, guys,” Aang shouts over Toph’s terrible singing. “I really appreciate it!”

“— built a path to be together…” Toph wiggles her eyebrows and grins. “Ready?”

Aang, Katara, Suki, and Toph all exchange grins, while Sokka groans and Zuko glances around, confused. 

“SECRET TUNNEL!” 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Shoji, Kanto, and On Ji stare at the letter sitting on the table. 

“Are you gonna open it? It’s got your name on it!” Kento whispers to On Ji, his chubby cheeks quivering in fear.

“Why would I be getting a letter from the Fire Lord personally? This is some kind of mistake,” On Ji declares, picking up the letter. “I’m giving it to the headmaster.”

“You’re not even gonna open it first? It’s addressed to you,” Shoji points out. “What if it’s something good? Maybe they found your dad. Or maybe the Fire Lord is inviting you to a royal party!”

“This is bad news,” Kento mumbles, scooting backwards. “What if you’re in trouble?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” On Ji says, rolling her eyes. “Fine. I’ll open it.” She unties the ribbon and carefully peels off the royal seal. The letter unrolls.

“What does it say?” Shoji asks, trying to peer over On Ji’s shoulder.

“Stop it, stop it,” she says, shoving him off. “I’m reading it.”

_ “Dear On Ji, Shoji, and all my other classmates, _

_ This is Aang speaking! Well, I guess you all know me as Kuzon. Kuzon from the colonies, remember? Anyway, I wanted to tell you about a super special event that I am organizing! We are gathering musicians from all over the world to come perform at the very first Music Festival of the Four Nations. Flamin’ hot, right? I want to personally invite everybody who was in our class to perform, because I remembered how great the Flameos played at my dance party. I hope you agree. It’s being held in Caldera City two months from now. Looking forward to seeing you there!  _

_ Your friend, _

_ Avatar Aang” _

“Agni, I almost forgot about Kuzon. What a guy.” 

“Wait.  _ Avatar  _ Aang?”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


“Uh-- you know a lot about Air Nomad music, right?”

“I  _ am _ a professor of it.”

“Yeah. So, uh. Do you know this song?” Sokka holds out a piece of paper.

Ranuk takes it from him, his eyebrow raised. “I do.”

Sokka grins. “Okay, great. I’ve got this idea, but I need your help.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Aang rolls his wooden flute between his palms. His arrows stand bright against his skin.

“Ready, buddy?”

Appa’s rumble of agreement makes him smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading chapter 2!


	3. Chapter Three

Zuko’s a bundle of nerves the day of the festival. He keeps checking his schedule, even though it hasn’t changed since Sokka revised it last week. He knows the entire itinerary, exactly at what times the performances are.

He steps up onstage. In front of him, dozens of people sit watching him. He breathes in.

“My name is Fire Lord Zuko,” he starts. “And I am proud to welcome all of you to the very first Music Festival of the Four Nations.” He looks down at the crowd, to where Uncle is sitting in the front row. He’s smiling.

“Avatar Aang ended the war, but there is still so much more that needs to be done. Today, hopefully, is a step in the right direction. We are regaining something we thought was once lost. Music is something integral to every nation, every culture, and every person.” Zuko looks out into the crowd. There is red. There is blue. There is green. And -- though in less numbers than the others -- there is yellow. 

“Through the efforts of Avatar Aang, our musicians performing today, and countless other people who worked so hard to organize this event, today we are able to embrace the music of our own nations, and of others.” He nods to where the musicians are lined up. “Thank you for supporting our efforts in bringing peace and restoring our cultures. I hope you enjoy the performances.”

There’s a smattering of applause as the first performer, a woman from Kyoshi Island with a large wooden _tonkori_ , takes the stage. As Zuko steps down from the podium, Uncle grabs his arm. 

“I do believe you are becoming every bit the leader I believed you would,” Uncle says, eyes shining. “I am so proud of you, Zuko.”

Zuko breathes out. He closes his eyes, and lets the first notes wash over him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The students from the Fire Nation school play a rousing song that gets the audience up and dancing; a stern Earth Kingdom man in a long robe plays a heart-wrenchingly beautiful piece on sitar; a pair of Northern Water Tribe girls perform a lively throat-singing competition until they both collapse into giggles.

“This is really it,” Aang whispers to Zuko. They’re standing at the base of the stage, watching the audience applaud for the Water Tribe girls as they sit down.

“This is really it,” Zuko agrees. “ _You_ brought this together. And you’re gonna be great.” He gives Aang a little push towards the stage. “Good luck.”

Aang steps onto the stage.

* * *

  
  


“Thank you everybody for taking part in such a meaningful day for me,” Aang says to the crowd. “As you all know, a hundred and two years ago, my people were lost in the war. I thought for a long time that, in losing my people, I also lost my culture.”

He looks across the crowd. Katara’s standing there in the audience, hands clasped in front of her chest, eyes shining. Aang takes a deep breath.

“I know now that this isn't true. I have found it again today, here with all of you celebrating it. I have found it in my own memories, where my people will live on.” Aang grips his flute in his palms. 

“Music has taught me friendship,” he says, nodding to the Fire Nation school kids. They wave back. “Music has taught me bending.” He glances to where Momo sits on Sokka’s shoulder in the audience. “Music has taught me that no matter what nation you’re from, and no matter who your family is, we are all people who share so much love for each other, and for our world.

“As the Avatar, I want to bring about the era of peace we all desire. But it has to be in more than just politics. It has to be in forgiving one another, and trusting each other.” He looks at Katara again, and she smiles. 

“The piece I’m going to play is one I learned over one hundred years ago. It’s an Air Nomad song, one we used to play together at the temples as kids.” Aang glances down for a moment, breathing in the air, recalling the sepia-warm memories of the temple. “I couldn’t remember the entire piece. That was really heartbreaking to me. But what I do remember should be shared and heard by all of you, and by the rest of the world. My _culture_ should be remembered.”

He breathes in. He breathes out. 

He puts the flute to his lips and starts playing.

It’s a simple, high melody, one that Aang pieced together from dusty memory and a manuscript he found in the Fire Nation treasure room. The song is short, because Aang doesn’t remember the whole thing. But he doesn’t want it to be over. The piece isn’t resolved. His _memory_ isn’t resolved.

And then there’s a string melody, low but confident, plucking along to the flute music. Aang looks up. Ranuk is there, smiling for once, and he’s _playing it._ He’s holding a dramyen, and he’s playing along with Aang. Aang almost forgets to measure his breath, his notes faltering. 

Ranuk’s playing echoes Aang’s own, blending and dancing, weaving in and out like two voices. The flute melody grows, the strings following in waves. Like dancing. Aang’s breath shudders.

And then, rough and low, a voice joins in. Aang looks up. Zuko is smiling at him, wide and bright, and he’s _singing_ . And then Katara’s voice joins, higher and clearer, and Sokka’s, and Toph’s and Suki’s and Iroh’s and _everyone._ The Water Tribe musicians, keeping the beat with their drums. The Earth Kingdom singers, adding in new harmonies. The Fire Nation students, finally playing with passion and love. 

Aang’s heart is full. The melody swells around him. He closes his eyes.

And he _remembers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were so many incredible styles of music which I unfortunately could not fit into this fic. Here are some of the sources I used for researching this fic, and some videos of musicians if you’d like to listen. 
> 
> Tibetan Music References and Artists:  
> https://soundcloud.com/techung  
> https://ctmd.org/programs/sharing-traditions/himalayan-language-and-culture-program/  
> https://tibetanmusicpreservation.wordpress.com/nangma/  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Music_of_Tibet
> 
> Inuit Music References and Artists:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLnOSH5j1sQh-lpAjXujUcOmdNZtsmTl0y  
> http://www.virtualmuseum.ca/edu/ViewLoitLo.do?method=preview&lang=EN&id=11979
> 
> Ainu Music:  
> https://world-music-travelling.blogspot.com/2009/11/hokkaido-revival-of-ainu-music.html  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ekN8fqU9zY4
> 
> Chinese and Japanese Music:  
> https://www.britannica.com/art/Chinese-music  
> https://www.chinahighlights.com/travelguide/culture/classical-instruments.htm  
> https://doyouknowjapan.com/traditionalmusic/
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please comment and let me know how I did. And if you're into that sort of thing, come visit me on tumblr at chief-yue.tumblr.com!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season and future year! I for one am very glad for 2020 to be over. This fic was really fun to write, and has a special place in my heart. I know it doesn't super fulfill the prompts given, but I figured a singer would appreciate a fic about music! I did a lot of research which will be posted at the end of the last chapter for references. I hope you enjoy!


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